Uthiel pressed a finger to Briar’s lips as he slowly stripped, relishing the gleam of passion and appreciation in her eyes. With gentle care, he concentrated on undressing her and kissing each spot of skin he revealed. “Do you really wish to chat about our wedding guests right now, my lady, or would you rather fuck?”
Briar gulped, smiled, and shook her head.
Not bothering to throw back the covers, Uthiel picked her up and laid her on her back. He joined her and took her passionately into his arms.
“Ah, at last to have my beautiful wife, my love, all to myself.” His hands roamed freely over her blush-pink skin, and Briar shivered with anticipation below him.
“Oh, Uthiel,” she sighed, as she grasped his cock in her hand and stroked its length.
“Oh, Briar,” he moaned, as his fingers found her pussy and delved into its depths.
From the other side of the bed, a third voice chimed in, “Oh, Miss Bunny, have I told ya I’m a war hero?”
Uthiel shot up so fast he lost his balance and fell on the floor.
“Leeky!”
Tempted by the Storm
by
Maxine Mansfield
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Tempted By The Storm
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Maxine Mansfield
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, November 2012
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-716-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-717-5
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To the incomparable Miss Cherry Adair, thank you
for telling me to sit my ass in the chair and
write the damn book. I did.
And thank you David Kuropkat for your hours of brainstorming and the use of your wonderful Leeky Shortz.
Thanks to my critique group, especially Lizbeth Selvig, Morgan Q O'Rielly, Tam Linsey, Jennifer Bernard and DeNise Woods. Your input and shoulders to cry on are as always, beyond price.
And last but certainly not least, thanks to my wonderful editors and cover artist Lori and Diana...
you guys make me look really good.
Touched by the Magic,
Tempted by the Storm,
Taken by the Passion…
A New Love is Born.
“It’s ice and fire
that forms a maiden’s desire.
It’s searing heat
where metal and gemstone first meet.
It’s with love in mind
that a treasure becomes divine.
It’s a champion you must defeat
for a heart you wish to seek.
It’s your choice to make
for the wife you will take.”
Chapter One
Lark sighed.
If ever a man was born to be laid upon silken sheets and devoured like an ice cream sundae, the handsome, dark-haired high-elf across the room was that man. He leaned nonchalantly against a pillar and my, oh my, how she’d like to practice a little good, old-fashioned debauchery with him.
What was she thinking? Even though this was the pleasure city of Carnalval and not only was lusting after strange men acceptable, but expected and condoned, that didn’t mean she could simply stroll over and take what her heart desired.
Still, she gazed at him with longing and let her mind wander where it would. Perhaps, if given the chance, she’d even top that man-sundae with hot fudge and whipped cream, sprinkle it with nuts and cherries, and slowly lick off the entire concoction. The thought made her smile and her tongue tingle with anticipation.
Even with his face partially concealed by a mask, he was gorgeous. Absolutely, mind-bogglingly, breathtakingly, gorgeous. In all her twenty-one years, Lark had never seen anything or anyone to compare with the sight. She sighed once more as her mind filled to overflowing with the possibilities.
What would it be like to have those long, robe-covered legs nestled between her own? How would it feel to lace her hands through that thick, black mane of hair? To tease, stroke, and draw him down beside her? When would be the perfect moment to kiss those lips, delve into their recesses, and taste heaven? Where in Albrath was there a place private enough to have him buried deep within her and adequately secluded so they’d be free to shout their pleasure to the rooftops?
For once in her boring, predictable life, Larksong Hammerstrike would very much like to be desired and taken by a man such as this one.
She adjusted her feathered mask, drew a deep breath, and took a step toward him when she recognized another woman making a beeline straight for the man of her dreams.
Lark stepped back into the shadows. There had never been a time in her life she could compete with her sister, Aryanna, and she certainly wasn’t going to start trying now.
Why had she come to this silly ball in the first place? Why had she come to Carnalval for that matter? Lark took another deep breath and squared her shoulders. She would not feel sorry for herself tonight. She had long ago recognized her place in this world and, if she were completely honest with herself, was comfortable in it.
She understood and accepted her duty and, though there were those who didn’t appreciate her abilities, Lark knew she was good at what she did. Darkly handsome men were meant for women of stature and beauty, like her sister, not those relegated to companion status, such as herself.
Despite her resolve, tears threatened and Lark fought a losing battle to stave them off. Perhaps she should make it an early evening and go back to the castle. A good wallow in self-pity and a warm cup of cocoa would be perfect. The day had been long and exhausting. She wouldn’t have even been at this asinine ball in the first place if Ary hadn’t insisted upon it.
Lark turned from the vision of the handsome, masked man across the room smiling down at her sister and headed toward the door. Perhaps it was for the best if she left the debauching to those more suited to it.
****
He tried to concentrate on what the female before him had to say, but couldn’t. Sarco Sunwalker was having too much trouble trying not to chase after the beautiful barbarian female walking toward the door. He’d noticed her the moment he’d stepped into the room and had been about to go speak with her, when he’d been waylaid. For a heartbeat, he’d been sure the feather-masked beauty had meant to come to him and then, she simply hadn’t.
Sarco shook his head. Carnalval on its best day was a strange place, and this season had certainly proved to be no exception to that rule. Why had he even come? Intimately cavorting with strangers had never been on the top of his to-do list.
The damn gnome, that’s why. He shuddered. There would be time to dwell on Leeky Shortz and his motives later. Right now, he needed to catch the fleeing beauty.
Knowing he was being rude but unable to stop himself, Sarco bowed quickly before the woman in front of him and headed toward the door. He caught a quick glimpse of the barbarian beauty slipping into the darkness.
With only one thought in mind, he followed. If he must be at Carnalval, he meant to make the best of this one night, his last evening of no responsibility. Tomorrow, he’d head back to the Academy of Magical Arts and to his duty, but for this one last night, his life was still his own.
He found her standing silently in the shadows of the l
ate summer evening, her face tilted to the pale light of the three moons of Albrath and her eyes closed. In her mask and glittery white gown, she reminded him of a fabled goddess he’d once read of. He was almost afraid to speak, fearful she would be but a figment of his imagination and disappear before his eyes. Sarco gathered his courage.
“Warm, don’t you think?”
The woman startled at the sound of his voice. The air whooshed from Sarco’s lungs. She was even more beautiful up close than she’d been from a distance. Hair the color of warm amber cascaded down pale shoulders. Eyes of molten silver gazed back at him through the white feathers of her mask. Lips full and pink—the kind begging to be kissed—curved upward in a slight smile. There was only one word that could describe the creature standing before him. Wonderful.
“Yes, it is a little warm, I suppose.” Her voice was warm honey.
Much like an untrained schoolboy, for the first time in his twenty-six years, high-elf wizard Sarco Sunwalker stumbled for something to say. “Umm, may I have this dance?”
He longed to touch her. The low-cut gown she wore clung to—but still did too good of a job hiding—her full breasts and lush, womanly curves. He yearned to caress her naked skin and discover the different textures of every inch. Her sigh broke into his erotic thoughts.
“There’s no music,” she whispered.
“There’s music all around, my dear Wonderful, if you but close your eyes and listen.”
He watched, enthralled, as long, dark lashes caressed white feathers. Her eyes closed and a smile graced her gentle features.
“Can you hear the music now?” he whispered. “Do you not notice the melodies sung by the birds of the night, the tempo of the wind, the added harmony of tiny insect wings in flight, mixed with the percussion of our very own heartbeats?”
He leaned in close and inhaled the fragrance of wildflowers mixed with lust. His cock hardened. “Can you not feel the music, Wonderful? Allow it to seduce you, give into the moment. Taste it, embrace it, dare to embrace me.”
She opened her eyes and nodded.
Sarco held out a hand, “Shall we then?”
Sweeping her into his arms and close against his chest, he twirled her to the rhythm of nature’s night song.
****
If she could have, Lark would have pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. He had called her Wonderful, and in a voice so rich and deep, it rumbled all the way to her toes. No man had ever left her so breathless.
Her skin tingled and tiny shivers skittered along her spine. Being held in the arms of the most mystifying man in all of Albrath and dancing, actually waltzing beneath the stars, were what dreams were made of. Not reality.
Not wanting to break the spell, she chanced a glance at his face anyway. Although his simple, black half-mask concealed his identity, nothing could hide those eyes. They reminded her of the hungry eyes of a large cat—rich brown, streaked with gold, mesmerizing. Where had she seen eyes like his before? An inkling of a memory stirred, but Lark pushed it away.
Now was not the time for dwelling. Now was the time to misbehave. This was Carnalval. This was allowed.
Crisply pointed ears told her of his high-elf heritage. And his lips…Lark trembled with the desire to lift up on tiptoes the mere inch it would take to savor their fullness, to chance a nip, to slide her tongue deep inside and relish a taste. The sly smile he gifted her with told Lark this man knew exactly what she’d been thinking, and heat warmed her cheeks.
His arms tightened about her, and for the first time in her life, Lark knew what it meant to be under a spell. Looking away wasn’t a possibility as, ever so slowly, his head dipped. He was going to kiss her, and even though she told herself to relax and breathe, her treacherous heart pounded erratically.
He tasted of exotic spice and stardust, of sweet passion and the promise of sizzling desire. His tongue teased and tempted. His hands roamed, his body molded to hers. She was lost and knew it. Whatever this man wanted, he could have. He needn’t ask, simply take.
What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if she were some virginal schoolgirl. Her barbarian father’s castle was well staffed with a team of professionals to teach all the specifics of carnal knowledge. Lark had not only passed, but excelled in her sex education classes and graduated with honors.
Why, then, did this man make her knees feel they could not hold her weight? Why did her heart pound near to bursting with just a kiss?
“Shall we find somewhere more private to continue our…dance, Wonderful?”
The whisper against Lark’s skin sent shivers racing straight down her spine, tightening her nipples along the way before scattering throughout her belly. “Do you mind if we go to your room? Laycee, my gnome—umm—governess, would never forgive me if I brought a man back to mine.”
He chuckled against the skin of her neck and Lark quivered.
“I understand that statement, Wonderful. I too have a pesky gnome in my life.”
Lark couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped as she struggled to maintain her composure while his lips continued their exquisite exploration. “Does your gnome have rules for every situation he demands you follow, like Laycee Titwilder does to me?”
The sound of the man’s laughter and his softly spoken words of, “Oh yes, his name should be ‘Rules’ instead of Leeky,” warmed Lark’s heart and settled the butterflies fluttering in her tummy.
He unwrapped himself from around her and tucked her arm in his. Together they strolled the lantern-lit lane.
The man turned slightly toward her and grinned. “Leeky Shortz really does have a rule for everything. For this trip to Carnalval alone, he had three in particular.”
He held up three fingers. “One,” he lowered his ring finger, “stay at the biggest castle you can find. That way if you get too intoxicated you can still find your way back to your room or find someone to at least point you in the right direction.” His middle finger joined the others. “Two, divide your money into three equal parts; one part in your tunic, one in your breeks, and one in your boots. That way, if you end up losing everything except your boots, you might be naked, but you still aren’t broke. And last but not least,” he shook the remaining finger, “never venture down a dark alley alone, because that’s just dumb.”
Lark laughed. “Your Leeky should meet my Laycee. They sound much alike.”
The man grinned, and Lark’s heart hammered in her chest. He leaned in close and nuzzled her neck. “Let’s not waste time talking gnomes, Wonderful. All I want to discuss is how long it’s going to take before I have you naked and squirming beneath me.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Me, too.”
****
Sarco knew himself to be undeserving of the gift waiting before him and yet, at the same time, he couldn’t force himself to walk away. In a matter of no more than a season—and certainly by the appearance of the once-a-century, triple-full-phasing of Albrath’s three moons—he was duty-bound to take a wife. And not just any wife, but a barbarian-human princess of a wife.
So why was he here now, doing something so completely foreign to his character? One-night stands and lusty encounters for the sake of sexual release alone had never been his style.
And yet, here he stood in the middle of his rented room, facing a lovely stranger and set upon a path of total intimacy with her. There was something about this woman, something he couldn’t resist.
Something beyond her obvious beauty drew Sarco to her. Something he didn’t understand and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Something almost spiritual had called to his soul the moment he glimpsed her standing across the expanse of the ballroom, and yet he dare not even ask her name. The freedom of Carnalval came with few restrictions, but anonymity was the most important one.
The trembling of his hand as he undid the closures holding his tunic together and slipped it awkwardly over his head told him more about himself than he wanted to know. When had he last made love to a woman for the pu
rpose of pure, simple pleasure? He couldn’t remember. Had he really allowed his life to become so burdened with day-to-day responsibilities that he’d forgotten how to live?
Perhaps Leeky Shortz had been right when he told him, “Boy, life is much too short ta not enjoy every single breath. Live life like ya’re arse is on fire. That’s my motto.”
Sarco chuckled.
“Did you say something?” the woman whispered.
He shook his head. “Nothing, I just can’t believe my luck. You really are real and here with me.”
She smiled, but her smile didn’t extend to her eyes.
Before another heartbeat passed or another breath taken, he stood at her side. With tenderness, he gazed into her gentle, masked face and took both of her hands in his. He was humbled as her fingers trembled even more than his own did. “We don’t have to do this if you’d rather not.”
She smiled wider, and her eyes gleamed with mischief. “I suppose we might as well. After all, we’re already here, and you’re at least halfway undressed.”
Sliding his hands up her arms and around her shoulders to her back, Sarco felt for and found the clasps holding her gown together. With the flick of a wrist, they gave way, and with a swish, the silky fabric fell to her hips exposing lush, rose-tipped breasts. Just the right size to hold in both hands, to fondle, to caress, to taste.
“Hmm, it seems you’re halfway undressed yourself.”
With a fingertip, Sarco grazed one pert nipple and was rewarded with the soft sound of a gasp. Replacing the finger with his lips, he sucked, then grinned to himself as the woman before him forgot to breathe and shivered. Easing the gown slowly over her hips and down her legs until it floated quietly to the floor, Sarco stepped back an inch to gaze. “Exquisite.”
Although she still wore a mask, Sarco didn’t miss the look of doubt as she opened her silver, passion-filled eyes.
Slowly, he caressed her cheek, running a finger down her neck, between her breasts, across her belly and resting it lightly at the top of her smooth mound before reversing and retracing his way back up.
The Academy Volume One Page 32